After nearly hanging himself on his tie, Bob staggered out to the kitchen, and once he'd raided the fridge of last night's cold lasagne, collapsed into a chair. As he drowned himself in coffee, Bob began to fight off the fog of sleep that continued to plague him, and gradually became observant of his surroundings. The cracked lino on the floor exuded its mould children into his mangy slippers, the water stains continued their crusade across the walls, and the sink swore in protest at the crumbling ceiling plaster falling into its territory. Still, combing his oily black hair out of his face, Bob snapped his genuine Seagull watch around his wrist…
